


Kurt Hummel Is Not A Cat

by crown_of_weeds



Category: Glee
Genre: Autism, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crown_of_weeds/pseuds/crown_of_weeds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel is not autistic.</p>
<p>But if he were, here’s how it could have gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Posible triggers for suicidal ideation, situational depression, and bullying and assault.

Kurt Hummel is not autistic.

  
But if he were, here’s how it could have gone.  


*****

****  
Kurt talked late, but he did talk. ****  
  
Kurt babbled and hummed and sang wordlessly to himself and watched his Disney movies over and over and over again. On March 3, 1995, Burt Hummel stood valiantly in line at Wal-Mart for two hours, wrestled two very determined dads, and successfully brought home the last available copy of _ The Lion King _ . Kurt watched it five times a day, every day, and it may have just been  a trick of the audio track, but by the thirty-fifth time it sure  _ sounded _ **** like he was singing along. ****  
  
It was a long month. ****  
  
But on April 2, 1995, Mommy absently asked a sleepy-eyed Kurt if he wanted pancakes or waffles for breakfast, not expecting an answer, and dropped her ladle all over the floor when he covered his face, leaned against the bottom cupboard, and groaned “I _ despise _ **** guessing games.” ****  
  
Kurt got extra pancakes that morning. ****  
  
So Kurt didn’t have any first words, but he had a first sentence. He was probably a genius, and _ such _ **** a hilarious little mimic, and he quickly expanded from the villain of his favorite movie to quoting almost anything he heard. Normal kids answered  _ what do you want for your birthday _ **** with  _ trucks _ **** and  _ crayons _ . Kurt tugged at his hair and said, with sing-song exasperation,  _ I just want a pair of sensible heels _ . ****  
  
(His mom had said the same thing looking for shoes to wear to dinner two nights ago. Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery.)

*****

**  
**Kurt had been reading since he was four, but he was six years old when he started kindergarten. He was so small, and so quiet; his parents had been afraid to send him off to school even with the extra year to grow. Kurt didn’t mind the wait. He was really into _The Sound Of Music_ , and he was not to be fooled--the Von Trapp children had a governess, and so would he. After all, his name was Kurt, too. **  
  
**Mom wound up spending the last weeks of August inventing elaborate stories about how after they fled to America the Von Trapp children went to school, just like he needed to. Kurt was not impressed, and in the end it was a new shirt, soft as silk, and a new bowtie that got him out of bed on the first day. **  
  
**The other boys and girls did _not_ want to play The Sound Of Music with him. Kurt decided he didn’t want to play with stupid kids who refused to follow simple directions and failed to appreciate the need for proper costuming. **  
  
**He made Ms. Hannen a list of reasons why she’d never be as smart or as pretty or as funny or even just as good a teacher as Maria, and then he sat down and got to work. **  
**  


*****

**  
** Kurt’s mom got sick that summer.

*****

****  
Kurt missed a lot of school in first grade. His teacher never said anything, because he always brought back the worksheets she sent home all filled out in his precise, tall writing, and he was still the best reader in the class. She did worry about his social skills though--Kurt was alternatively withdrawn and bossy, and he cried at unexpected changes and couldn’t seem to track the other children’s conversations or rapidly changing friendships. ****  
  
She almost brought it up at parent-teacher conference, but the day before the school psychologist started seeing Kurt once a week. His mom was dying; no wonder he tried to live in his own little world. Have some compassion.

*****

**  
**In second grade, Kurt went to Ms. Abrams’ office twice a week during lunch, Mondays and Thursdays. Her notes showed that he followed the same routine exactly every time: walk in. Ask when she’s going to change the curtains. Sit down. Say the chair is too itchy. Stand up. Go over to the facial expressions chart on the wall and try to make his mouth turn upside-down like the picture for _sad_. Ask why she has a chart with faces humans can’t make. Ask when she’s going to get a realistic chart. Point to the face that approximates how he feels. Work on feeling words. Draw a picture of his mom. Humor (and how unnerving, her notes say, being _humored_ by an eight-year-old) Ms. Abrams when she says that it’s okay to be sad right now, and that everyone has big scary feelings when their mom dies. **  
  
**At home, Kurt took to making lists. He would go up to his room, lay down with his head pillowed on one of his mom’s old dresses, and write _17 ways to wear a scarf_ and _cleaning the bathroom in ten easy steps_ and _100 things Dad and I can do on Friday nights_. **  
**  


*****

**  
** Middle school kind of sucked.

*****

**  
**Kurt Hummel was gay. **  
  
**It was a good thing, too. Now he knew what was wrong with him. **  
  
**You got a maximum of one allowed major difference per human. He was pretty sure that’s how it worked. **  
  
**Kurt Hummel was gay. It wasn’t a good thing, but it was simple, and one day, in one city, it wouldn’t matter at all. **  
**  


*****

****  
Kurt never did meet mytwogaydads. What would he _ say _ ? He wasn’t even friends with Rachel. He wasn’t friends with anyone until Glee, and then it was Mercedes (eventually) and Tina (third founding member of the McKinley Sartorial Review Board) and Brittany (secretly.) ****  
  
He didn’t know much about Brittany at first. She sat with him and Mike Chang in health class freshmen year, and spent the period doodling dangerously phallic shapes all over her worksheets. Neither she nor Mike ever tried to talk to Kurt, which was why he liked them. They had the best table in the class. ****  
  
Two days after the Cheerios join glee club, Brittany dropped into the chair next to him. “Hi Kurt,” she said. ****  
  
He blinked. “Hello,” he said. ****  
  
“ You move the same way I do,” she announced, blinking back exaggeratedly. “We should probably be friends.” ****  
  
Kurt could _ feel _ **** Santana watching him, and he was too busy keeping his spine stiff, even though he already knew that having his back to her was a really, really stupid idea, to process what Brittany was saying. “Do you mean, like, dancing? I dance like you do? I hope we’re doing the same choreography, that’s kind of the point,” he said, gently, because Brittany had already revealed that she couldn’t tell her left from her right and while that didn’t seem to affect her dancing he thought he knew why Santana was always  _ right there _ **** with her. ****  
  
Brittany gave him a long, measured look, and her smile twisted when she said, “Sure. Okay. I was talking about dancing. We should dance together some time.” ****  
  
Kurt was fairly certain they were talking about two different things, but that’s how conversation worked and _ oh _ **** he really needed a second backup dancer for Single Ladies, and she looked exactly right for it. “You know what Brittany? I’d love that,” he said, and so it began.

*****

**  
** Kurt Hummel’s friendship with Brittany did not happen loudly enough for anyone besides Tina to notice. Kurt didn’t realize it, but Brittany did that for him, too.

*****

****  
Mike Chang had wanted to touch Kurt ever since he walked onto the football field, did what Puck said was the gayest fucking dance he’d ever seen, and kicked the ball right through the goal posts. Kurt just seemed like the bravest, brightest, most beautiful boy Mike had ever seen, and he looked like he needed a friend. ****  
  
That he never seemed to notice Mike hurt more than it maybe should have. ****  
  
“ You just need to  _ ask _ **** him,” Brittany laughed when Mike, still feeling  _ invincible _ **** after his last dose of vitamin D, asked her why Kurt hadn’t played back when Mike had drawn him in after their performance and messed with his scarf. “Kurt’s not going to know to be friends unless you tell him that’s what you want. That’s what I had to do. He still didn’t...we worked it out, okay? You can too! Just tell him.” ****  
  
“ Yeah, okay,” Mike agreed, bouncing. “I can totally do that! Yeah! I’m just gonna walk up to him and say YO KURT, LET’S GO SCARF SHOPPING. I bet he’d love that. Maybe he’d dance with me, that’s what you did, right Britt?” ****  
  
“ That’s a really good plan,” said Brittany, nodding, and it was. It was Mike’s best plan ever, until Mr. Schuester makes them turn in their vitamin D and Mike remembered how  _ scary _ **** amazing Kurt was. ****  
  
So Mike never did manage to speak directly to Kurt, and thus Kurt was never aware that any guy might ever have wanted to. Mike went back to watching, studying, and worrying, and tried not to take it personally. ****  
  
The thing about Mike was that he saw everything. ****  
  
Mike saw how excited Kurt could get, and how devastated, both over the smallest but obviously most important things. Mike saw Kurt constantly working on some list on his cellphone, though he never got close enough to see what it said. Mike saw that Kurt always seemed just a second behind in the New Direction’s bi-weekly free-for-all screaming matches--never enough to be _ off _ , but always just a tick behind everyone else. Mike saw how Kurt was alternately aloof and almost passive, always responding to other people, always needing to be drawn into the group, never initiating anything--unless something was  _ wrong  _ and needed to be fixed  _ right now _ . ****  
  
Mike saw that Kurt’s hands were never still--always touching, stroking, playing with, scratching at, twirling _ something _ . Mike saw that sometimes Kurt would knot his tie almost impossibly tight against his throat, and Mike also saw how his shoulders seemed to relax afterwards. Mike saw how Kurt always managed to seat himself just a few inches farther away from those around him than any of the other kids, always waited for someone else to take his hand or come in towards him for choreography, and Mike saw that it wasn’t just Puck coming in close that would make Kurt stiffen--it was Mercedes, and Tina, and everyone except sometimes Brittany. ****  
  
When Brittany told him a second time that Kurt vibed the same way she did, Mike thought he might understand what she meant now.

*****

****  
It was high school. ****  
  
They were all doing the best they could. ****  
  
Kurt survived.

*****

****  
Sophomore year was better than freshman year. Kurt didn’t have Mike, but he had Brittany, who came over once a week to dance and watch Disney movies and let Kurt play with her hair. She didn’t say much, though she said enough to make Burt wonder, and then marvel, and then know. Kurt didn’t listen to her very often, honestly, especially not if she was letting him try different braids in her hair. ****  
  
Sometimes she would ask if she could bring Becky with her next week. That was usually when Kurt decided it was time for her to go home. ****  
  
Mercedes didn’t know about Brittany, except for that disastrous week in March, and she and Tina took Kurt under their wings. Kurt was fast and funny and very, very good with clothes, and sometimes he actually literally wriggled with joy under their attention. He wasn’t always the kindest friend to Mercedes, but she was sure that was her own fault for having a heart that wouldn’t stay in her damn chest where it belonged, and he stood up for Tina and always apologized when he knew he needed to and was a useful tiebreaker when they were voting on boys. Except for Finn; he had a blind spot there for a while. Mercedes _ swore _ **** she didn’t judge him for it, but what were you  _ thinking _ , boy. ****  
  
(“I was thinking that I worked really hard on the room and it was fifty-fifty and that’s fair share,” he snapped before his lower lip started to wobble, and Tina frowned at Mercedes and told Kurt to eat his Ben & Jerry’s or else he’d be in violation of Girl Code.) ****  
  
Kurt discovered that Mercedes and Tina _ liked _ **** it when he recited entire articles from Vogue, and Cosmo and Seventeen had enough articles about boyfriends and makeup to help him through those conversations too. He and Mercedes worked out a handshake with minimal physical contact, and Tina lent him her gloves on days when the feel of the desks under his palms made him angry, and.... ****  
  
Sophomore year was better than freshman year.

*****

****  
And this is where our story proper begins. Kurt makes it to the start of his junior year of high school alive, undiagnosed and therefore not as scarred as he could be. He has more friends and allies than he knows, he feels different because he’s _ gay _ , and he believes because he has to that once he makes it out of Lima he won’t even feel different at all. ****  
  
And then things start to change.

*****

****  
  
Junior year looks like it could easily be the worst year of his life. ****  
  
The slushies and locker slams and insults pick up, as though to compensate for Puck ending the morning dumpster drive. He has no fucking clue what’s happening between Dad and Carole, and he doesn’t want to think about it. (He tries to think back to _ that incident _ **** and everything clenches up and  _ hurts _ **** and he just doesn’t want to, okay?) They all seem to be pretending nothing happened. Kurt can work with that. Mr. Schuester appears to be actually actively trying to be as wrong as possible about literally everything this year, but  _ Kurt _ **** is the one who has to talk to Figgins. ****  
  
And then there’s that week when Kurt is pretty sure he’s going to be an orphan. ****  
  
Except no, he can’t think about that. He literally cannot....there is a giant _ blank _ **** when he tries to imagine  _ no Dad _ . Kurt stops without Dad. There is no.... ****  
  
No. ****  
  
He wouldn’t have been an orphan for very long. He had contingency plans. ****  
  
(He shreds that list before Dad comes home.)

*****

**  
**Once he can focus on something besides _Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad is home, Dad is okay, I will_ make _Dad always be okay, Dad, Dad, Dad_ again, Kurt realizes that he no longer feels...anything when Mercedes talks to him. **  
  
**That’s....weird. **  
  
**He runs through his options. He doesn’t feel _mad_. He doesn’t _hurt_. He’s not _sad_. He just...doesn’t care whether or not she smiles at him anymore. Mercedes has ceased to be relevant. **  
  
**They don’t stop hanging out. That would be way too complicated, and require too much energy for someone who just doesn’t _matter_ any more. But he does start having Brittany over more instead. Dad likes her--Kurt shows him the report she’d made, and Dad thanks her and reassures her that having a heart transplant doesn’t make him two people in one body, but if he was they’d both be happy to see her--and she was the only person to offer Kurt anything _useful_ that week, which makes him think she might be smarter than she looks. **  
  
**But that’s the problem. **  
  
**She’s just so obviously _not_. **  
  
**Kurt needs a new project. He’s confused about Mercedes, and more bruised than ever, and his mind can’t stop looping over and over and over again on _did I put salt in the soup, salt is bad, what if I forget one night and put salt in the soup_ , and he needs to distract himself. **  
  
**Thank god for Brittany. **  
  
**Kurt doesn’t tell her what he’s doing. He doesn’t expect her to know, anyway--his mistake, but it will take another year before he realizes just how far ahead of him she is here, too. For now, he googles _ADHD_ and _dyslexia_ and when those don’t fit he starts clicking around and chasing tangents until he can get up the courage to type _mental retardation_ in, and in his dithering he finds something called the AQ. **  
  
** _Autism Quotient_. **  
  
**He’s pretty sure Brittany isn’t autistic--she can talk, they can’t do that, right?--but it’s worth a shot and shouldn’t take too long and the label is kinder and hey, some of these questions are kind of interesting. **  
  
**Some of these questions are _really_ interesting. **  
  
**He’s pretty sure it’s not a real test--it’s not like anyone can accurately convey anything from a set of four possible options, and the right answers are so obvious, who _wouldn’t_ want to do the same thing over and over again if they’d found a system that worked?--so he doesn’t feel bad at all about starting it over again and taking it as himself. **  
  
**No, he can’t _follow several conversations at once_. Have they ever been to a New Directions rehearsal? _They_ can try. He’ll wait for their apology. **  
  
**Of course he _notices small sounds others don’t_ \--his pitch is _excellent_. He _notices details others don’t_ because he is surrounded by idiots. He does indeed like to _plan everything he does carefully_. That’s how perfection is achieved. No, he doesn’t _enjoy spending a lot of time with other people_. They don’t seem to enjoy him, either. **  
  
**(Y ou know, maybe he would _prefer to_ _do things with others rather than on my own_ if anyone was willing to, say, sing a fucking duet with him.) **  
  
**The test tells him that the cut-off for “Asperger’s syndrome or high-functioning autism” is 32, and most autistic people score around 35. **  
  
**Kurt gets a 37. **  
  
**This isn’t funny any more. **  
  
**Kurt has been weird and less and _not like everyone else_ since the first day of kindergarten. He doesn’t actually need some pseudo-scientific Internet test offering to tell him the exact quantifiable amount of _not okay_ he is. Not today. Not when the painted hands on his most comfortable blue sweater are the closest thing to a boyfriend he’s ever going to get. **  
  
**Not today. **  
  
**Kurt closes the browser, breathes, assesses the cold feeling in his stomach. He’s not going to be hungry until the weekend at least, but he can make Dad something. He’s been dying to find a way to make that spinach tart fat-free. **  
  
**He never does work out what’s wrong with Brittany. It’s for the better, he decides: the Internet is full of lies, and it’s a horrible thing to wonder, anyway. **  
**  


*****

**  
** Things get worse before they get better.

*****

**  
**There are bright spots. In some secret, tired, we-don’t-say-it-out-loud part of his brain, Kurt wishes there _weren’t_ \--they always get his hopes up. He forgets how to be careful so quickly, every time, believes as easy as anything that things will be better now, and then the lockers hurt more the next day. **  
  
**He’s silly like that. **  
  
**He goes trick-or-treating with Brittany. He’s a ninja, something equally as stealthy and deadly as her peanut allergy. They get more candy than he thinks might be usual for kids their age, especially from the houses where Brittany tries to explain her costume. **  
  
**It’s fun. Playing Riff Raff is fun, or at least playing with his wig and feather duster is. Talking fashion with Tina is fun. **  
  
**He bleeds through a new shirt when Karofsky slams him into an open locker . **  
**  


*****

****  
Rachel talks to him before glee now, asking him how his day has been and does he think she’s destined to win a People’s Choice or a Tony first. Kurt doesn’t have enough energy to be tolerant, but he also lacks the wherewithal to be cruel, so he’s vague and absent and Rachel thinks this means they’re friends. ****  
  
Kurt doesn’t have the time to think about what this says about Rachel, or how this, added in with Mercedes and Brittany, reconfigures his social jenga. All of Kurt’s time now goes towards _ Dad _ **** and sneaking extra shirts into the bottom of his bag and touching-up his concealer and adding increasingly outrageous items to his bucket list. Some mornings it takes all his energy just getting up when his alarm goes off and stumbling into the shower, and he doesn’t have anything  _ left _ **** for his friends. ****  
  
It’s not that Kurt is _ ignoring _ **** everyone. It’s just that getting out of bed is getting harder every day, and to keep breathing he needs to pull in on himself and leave less for everyone else. It’s not  _ safe _ **** walking through the the halls at McKinley all open and available and vulnerable, and he can’t keep closing himself down and then opening up whenever someone needs him. It’s too much. No one else has to--it’s not a fair expectation, and he resents them for it to an extent that terrifies him some days. He doesn’t want to. ****  
  
He just doesn’t want to. ****  
  
He locks himself up, powers down, seals himself off, and put his chin in the air and struts. They can’t touch him. ****  
  
Karofsky seems to want to, though.

*****

**  
** Kurt doesn’t understand it.

*****

****  
Puck is back. That’s nice. They’re an even number, everyone who should be there is there, they have enough members to compete. Things are back to normal. That’s nice. ****  
  
Puck tells him to go visit the Garglers. That’s not nice. ****  
  
Kurt goes.

*****

****  
  
Kurt does not, as a rule, skip school. He’d been giddy with power when he discovered halfway through eighth grade that he could _ lie _ **** and say he felt sick enough to stay home, but his grin had tipped Dad off and his subterfuge had been short-lived. ****  
  
He doesn’t know why he’s never just gotten into his Navigator and driven away from McKinley in the middle of the day before now. It could be a thing, he thinks. For moderately bad days. On really bad days, he wouldn’t have the energy to change his schedule. ****  
  
Today is probably not the worst day in his entire existence, so he drives home, googles _ Dalton Academy Warblers _ , assembles something from his closet that could almost match the uniform if someone with basic fashion sense had been in charge of it, and goes. His GPS gets him to Dalton without issue, and then he’s in the main building without anyone stopping him ( _ I’m Kurt, I’m new here _ , he practices, chanting it in his head as if the mantra can repel attention, and maybe it can) and swept up into a crowd of boys swirling down a staircase ( _ ooooh, it’s just like the one from  _ Titanic _ , could he get away with taking a picture? _ ) before he realizes that he has  _ no idea what’s going on _ . ****  
  
“ Excuse me,” he says, clutching his sunglasses until he can feel them biting into his palm. He’s moving too slowly, drifting out onto the edge of the crowd, and a few boys jog past but one slows down and stops, turning, a few steps below him. Kurt goes to him. “Um, hi, can I ask you a question? I’m new here.” ****  
  
The boy looks him over for a second and then smiles. “My name is Blaine,” he says, and when he reaches out his hand for Kurt, Kurt takes it.

 


	2. Kurt Hummel Is Not A Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt wonders if he's made it through the wilderness to the promise land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Posible triggers for suicidal ideation, situational depression, and bullying and assault.
> 
> A million thanks to narceus, who lets me know when they sound like aliens or I put in [emotion word] and forget to name it, and who knows things like French and never complains when I throw paragraphs at her. Also she did the html for this because LJ sucks, and for that I definitely owe her my firstborn or another vid or something.

 

 

Kurt Hummel is wearing short sleeves again.

He’s not even aware of it, really. He always changes his shirt when he gets home, even on the rare days without dumpsters or slushies or cuts from lockers. He likes warm things and soft fabrics when he’s home, simple lines and loose and heavy layers instead of the sharp constructions he needs for school. He comes home every day, stands in the shower until he gets too close to pruning, and then puts on something soft and starts dinner.

This is how his afternoons have worked since midway through freshman year. This week, two things have changed: he’s been grabbing shirts that don’t button at the wrist, and he’s been putting Blaine on speakerphone while he cooks.

They have been texting more or less 24/7 since Blaine took him out to lunch. They’d talked before then, sure--Blaine had said that Kurt should consider him a safe person to vent to, so Kurt sent him pictures of Rachel’s getups and Blaine sent back emoticons, Blaine sent him _courage_ and Kurt sent back _I could use some liquid courage if I have to listen to Puck try to guess Mercedes’ cupsize again_ and _he’s either being wrong on purpose or he’s blind, it’s 42 DDDD, honestly._ Blaine sent him links about alcoholism in LGBTQ+ youth. Kurt ignored him for thirty-five minutes until Blaine panicked and offered him a youtube of a cat saying “no.”

It was a pretty funny cat.

They had fun texting for a few days, though it wasn’t any more than what he and Mercedes used to do. Blaine had called him for the first time when Kurt didn’t answer his phone for nine hours last week, and there had been a long conversation where Blaine talked a lot, and then lunch the next day, and after that the texting was more or less constant. But it’s almost impossible to make a proper roux and text at the same time, so Kurt calls Blaine and puts him on speaker instead. Kurt cooks, Blaine does his homework, they chat, and sometimes a warbler drops in and fills up the pauses when Kurt’s trying to get a measurement just right.

It’s _companionable_ , Kurt thinks, rolling the word around in his head. A mash-up of _companion_ and _comfortable. Companionable._

He could get used to it.

He sees his bare elbows in the mirror, and wonders if he already has.

*****

_Kurt won’t ever tell you this, but:_

_After he had pushed him away, after he had collapsed against the locker, he had some trouble moving._

_A door slammed, probably. A bell rang, somewhere. The locker was cold. Warming up. No one came in. There must not be gym this period._

_His lips were buzzing._

*****

Blaine is a revelation. All of this time and Kurt’s never been entirely sure he wasn’t making up half his life, and then there was Blaine, and he wasn’t.

Blaine tells Kurt he’s trying to convince the Warblers to cover _Paper Gangsta,_ but “Wes isn’t going for it. David thinks we would need to at least take our blazers off if we wanted to do that, and Thad called for David’s resignation. Again. So I don’t know if we’ll pull it off this year.”

Kurt scowls at the Cornish game hen he’s stuffing and tries not to think about how gross his hands feel. He worked hard on this stuffing, and he’s already got the first chicken done, and he’s not going to quit now, even if he can feel the breadcrumbs getting under his nails.

“I can tell by your silence that you are thinking I can’t rap. I will remind you that the only way to find out is to let me try. I feel a deep personal connection to Lady Gaga’s body of work, and I think this song presents a real opportunity for me to grow as an artist.”

Kurt wipes his hands furiously on his apron and dives for the sink. _Done._ When he turns the water off and goes to dry his hands, he can hear Blaine again.

“I can see that angle is having the same effect on you as it did on Wes. I think you’re just afraid to discover that I’m just massively more ghetto than you.”

“Actually I was trying to remember if _organic_ pre-stuffed chickens exist, but sure, I’m really threatened by you and your rapping, Blaine. Shaking in my boots.”

“Are they fabulous boots?”

“Not as fabulous as the heels I made for Lady Gaga week, but nothing ever will be, really.”

“...tell me more.”

 

*****

 

_He should move. He should move. He should look at his list. His hand should move down from his mouth, and he should take out his phone and he should look at his list._

_His hand didn’t want to move._

_The hallways were quiet again._

_The floor was very gray._

*****

Kurt doesn’t tell Blaine everything, but Blaine definitely learns that Kurt has a much deeper connection with Lady Gaga than he could ever hope to match. Kurt’s willing to let Blaine handle the rapping though. This is a sacrifice he is willing to make.

“Shrek?” Blaine asks, laughing. “Lord Farquaad? You don’t strike me as the type to quote Shrek.”

“Well you don’t strike me as the type to rap, so I guess we’re both a little wrong,” Kurt snaps. Regrets it. Breathes.

“I guess we are,” Blaine says, quietly.

*****

_He needed the list. Maybe his other hand could get his phone. Maybe. That could be a thing._

_His stupid hand couldn’t find his phone._

_Where was his phone?_

_Where. was. his._

 

*****

Every day, Kurt goes down into the kitchen and texts _I think it’s a soup day today or what seasoning do you think I’ll have to add to this ground turkey to make Dad thinks it’s hamburger?_ and maybe three minutes later at the most, Blaine calls him.

He thinks he maybe shouldn’t trust Blaine to pick up his dropped stitches. He doesn’t really know him at all. Blaine’s a perfect stranger.

But that just makes it easier.

And so away from school, away from other bodies, talking into the air, Kurt unknits himself.

*****

_Kurt bolted._

*****

“So hey,” Blaine says, “you like _Rent,_ right?”

Kurt blinks at the phone. “Of course I do. People who don’t like _Rent_ literally don’t like anything.”

“Wanna see it with me this Friday?”

Kurt considers. Rubs his palm across his forearm, examines the freckles there. Decides.

“Take me out tonight?”

“Well, Friday.”

“What’s the time?”

“...well it’s gotta be close to midnight.”

*****

_….standing in an empty hallway, in front of a locker not his own, staring at his list._

_The screen is cracked, but he can read his list._

_He adds_ outlaw stirrup pants _to his list, and floats down the hall to class._

*****

Kurt thinks that if he’d known, years ago, that Blaine Anderson lived just 25 minutes away in the nice (gated) part of Lima, things might not have been such a waste.

Blaine thinks two things about Kurt:

One: Kurt is like oxygen to him.  
Two: Either Kurt has never been able to breathe, or he’s forgotten how.

*****

To: Blaine  
 _I made it through the wilderness._

To: Kurt  
 _Somehow you made it through?_

To: Blaine  
 _The substitute for English today is *singing*_

To: Kurt  
 _Conjunction junction, what’s your function?_

To: Blaine  
 _...lucky guess._

To: Kurt  
 _Dude, Schoolhouse Rock was my JAM in third grade._

To: Blaine  
 _I’m sure it was._

To: Blaine  
 _I hope Mr. Baker stays sick forever, this is divine._

To: Kurt  
 _...is it wrong of me to hope that you haven’t *actually* died and gone to heaven?_

To: Kurt  
 _I don’t know, I feel like wishing a teacher dead could interfere with that divinity plan tho_

To: Blaine  
 _OR you could rain on my parade, whatever._

To: Kurt  
 _Let me make it up to you. Coffee? Funny Girl?_

To: Blaine  
 _What did you do before you had me to watch musicals with?_

To: Kurt  
 _Should you be texting in class?_

To: Kurt  
 _Kurt it was a joke._

To: Kurt  
 _Seriously? You decide to be a good student NOW?_

To: Kurt  
 _I’m gonna take your silence as, yes Blaine, I’d love to get ice cream this afternoon instead of coffee like we ALWAYS DO._

To: Kurt  
 _You will just have to deal with the calories._

To: Blaine  
 _Don’t joke about that._

*****

Blaine is relieved to see Kurt sitting on his porch, playing with the zipper on his jacket and rocking a little, when Blaine pulls up. Blaine is always relieved to see Kurt. Kurt pops up, going around to the passenger side and climbing in carefully as Blaine scrambles to move his bag.

“ _Bonjour,_ ” Kurt says, “do you own anything besides that blazer?”

“What?” says Blaine, narrowly resisting the urge to straighten his tie. “Also, hi. How are you?”

“ _Ça va, même que je t’ai demandé d’abord._ It’s a Friday after school, and we’ve known each other for two weeks, and I’ve never seen you in human clothes.”

“I figure you wear enough clothes for both of us?”

“Every second of your life is an opportunity for fashion.”

“You know, I think that’s the third time I’ve heard you say that.”

Kurt stiffens, lips parted on an unvoiced syllable, eyes locked on the dashboard. His voice is cold and thin when he asks, finally, “where are we going?”

“Definitely not Dairy Queen,” Blaine lies. “Hey, don’t be mad, I was just teasing. It’s a good line. I just haven’t been home to change yet. You’re gonna have to catch me on a weekend if you want to see me in my civvies.”

“This is the way to Dairy Queen, Blaine.”

“....no it’s not.”

“I can see the sign, Blaine. We could have walked.”

“I figured, if we walked, you would have run away?”

“ _Tu ne te trompes pas._ ”

“You know, I bet if we keep hanging out my French grade is going to go through the roof.”

“We can try.”

“ _Oui._ It would have been funnier if you’d said that in French though.”

“ _Je m’en fiche, je fais ce que je veux._ ”

“That’s the spirit.”

They climb out of the car (they really could have walked, that wasn’t even a five minute drive, if Blaine lived with Kurt he would go to Dairy Queen _all the time_ ) and when Kurt grins before screwing up his face and making to flounce back towards his house Blaine grabs his arms and pulls him towards the stand. “Come on, I’m gonna order the biggest sundae for you, what’s your flavor?” Blaine laughs, and Kurt leans back against Blaine’s grip and lets himself be dragged, face tipped back and a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Over their Blizzards ( _no Blaine, I can’t actually help you with the sundae, Dad and I are meeting Carole and Finn at BreadstiX at seven and Finn’s face gets so hilariously wounded when I eat more than him,_ ) Kurt asks if it’s normal for things to get so much better so fast.

Blaine feels the gel congealing on his scalp and the ache underneath his collarbone, and he smiles and says, “that’s what the videos say, right?”

“Mmm. It gets better,” hums Kurt, and Blaine looks at his fingers fluttering against his cup and swallows.

“It got better.”

“So fast, though?” Kurt asks. Blaine hesitates.

“See, I’d say it took more than long enough.”

*****

Blaine is sitting in a booth of a restaurant his father would sniff at and drive past, his hair perfectly gelled and combed into a precise part, the top button on his shirt undone but his tie still firmly on, nursing a Coke while next to him Kurt fixes his bowtie and tears through a monologue on equality as though he’s never had anyone willing to listen to it before.

Of course, if the way his _first and very best friend and shopping companion, Blaine, you’re going to LOVE her, I know it_ is drifting off is any indication, that might actually be the case.

“What do you think, Mercedes?” he tries. Maybe she really is tired. He doesn’t understand how anyone could feel anything besides energized and alive after five minutes with Kurt, but maybe it wears off after you’ve known him for years. He hopes he gets to find out. He would really, really like Kurt to still be around in a few years.

Mercedes doesn’t know anything about Prop 8. Kurt corrects her with much more patience than he’d had correcting Blaine’s _delusion_ that a uniform was anything like appropriate dinner wear ( _alright Blaine, we’re hanging out this Saturday, and if you can’t dress like whatever kind of person you are we are going shopping, this isn’t Dead Poets Society. In fact, we should go shopping anyway. I’ll pick you up at ten._ ) Blaine freezes for exactly half a second, fixes his smile more firmly in place, and tries to steer the conversation to safer ground.

Kurt does not get that memo. Kurt wants to talk about Vogue, sitting next to a boy, in the middle of a restaurant where everyone can hear, and Blaine doesn’t even think. Blaine _never_ gets to talk about the subscriptions he slips out of his mother’s basket in the front room room every month, and Kurt is laughing and actually bouncing with excitement and it’s the most gloriously absurd thing but Blaine is warm and loose and laughing back before he realizes that Mercedes has zoned out again and Kurt has gone small and still beside him.

There are reasons, he remembers.

“We should talk about things you’re interested in too,” he apologizes to Mercedes, and he likes football but he can’t resist Kurt’s high-five, his hand fleeting and so soft.

Later, they’re standing by the door, and Mercedes tips her head at Kurt and says “did you forget your coat? Boo, it’s November in Ohio, you have to wear a coat, you had that beautiful blue one the other day, what happened to it?” Kurt crosses his arms and squeezes at his elbows and is quiet one two three seconds too long, and oh. Oh. She has no idea, does she.

Not to be harsh, but Blaine wonders just how Kurt’s been defining “friends.”

She leaves, and he gets in the car with Kurt and chews at his lip before he remembers not to and tries to think of a way to phrase this delicately. Kurt pulls out onto the road and Blaine asks, carefully, “So, Mercedes. She’s your best friend?”

Kurt frowns at the steering wheel. “I think that’s how it works, yeah.”

“You think?”

“All the time. You should try it.”

“Hey, play nice.”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.

“No I’m not.”

“It’s just...usually, you know, when two people are friends, there’s no _I think_ there. They just are.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

*****

Mercedes likes Blaine, she really does. Kurt has someone to talk to, and if the way he’s been acting lately is any indication, he needs someone.

It’s funny though. Up until just a few weeks ago, she _was_ that someone.

It was her and Kurt against the world, until it wasn’t. And that’s fine, really, it’s fine, she saw how fast he dropped Finn last year and she should have expected this, pattern recognition, Kurt always stressed patterns. Mercedes has spent the last year and change learning Kurt, and it’s fine, it’s fine.

She just wishes that maybe he could have bothered to learn her, too.

Kurt’s dad got sick, and it was scary and Kurt was drifting down halls and forgetting to leave the library and go to class and then going home to an empty house every night, and Tina had worked out a schedule where a different member of glee club was always just _near him_ at school but something, some light, had gone out of his face. Mercedes had asked him if he’d wanted to stay with her--half the glee club had, she thinks, she knows Artie and Tina had both offered and Finn had _better_ have--but Kurt had panicked, started shredding his celery, _no, no, I can’t, I can’t leave the dresser_ , and she’d dropped it. She wonders if maybe it would have been better to insist. She doesn’t even know if he ate at all that week.

Well, no. She knows he didn’t, but that hurts to think about. Kurt always hurts to think about, now.

Something had gone wrong, and Kurt’s dad came back but Kurt was lost to her, gone, there in the choir room but completely sealed off. _Tina_ had to tell her how the Sam thing ended, and he’s singing duets with _Rachel_ now, and he looks in her direction when she asks him to but it’s like he doesn’t even recognize her. Kurt isn’t here anymore, he’s locked himself away and he’s gone, but she can see his collarbone _and_ his forearms when he’s talking about Blaine in the cafeteria, and damn it, god damn it Kurt, Mercedes isn’t enough anymore so he’s going to go around opening himself up to the first boy who looks?

It’s wrong of her. She knows it is. She _knows_ , but oh, that doesn’t make it hurt any less, and sometimes Mercedes just wishes Kurt weren’t so _cruel._

Mercedes just needs a hug. And the problem is, the problem _is..._

Kurt doesn’t give those.

*****

Kurt has things under control.

He spent a long time (too long, too long) thinking and not thinking and thinking again about Karofsky, helpless, and then there was a long conversation with Blaine and lunch and more talking and he made eight different lists but in the end he got it back under control. The facts are these:

Kurt is gay.  
Karofsky is a bully.  
This means that Kurt is not safe at his school.  
(Blaine insists he has a right to feel safe.)  
Karofsky is gay.  
(This is probably related to, Karofsky is a bully.)  
This means that Karofsky is not safe at his school.  
Two wrongs do not make a right.  
Kurt does not believe in Outing.  
Kurt can keep Karofsky safe.  
If Kurt is keeping Karofsky safe, then Karofsky will have no choice but to leave him alone.

It’s a good plan. It makes sense. It will work.

*****

  
__  
Frozen by his locker, Kurt thinks distantly that he might have miscalculated.

_Then, for a while, Kurt doesn’t think at all._

*****

Blaine has never left in the middle of Warblers rehearsal before. Then again, he’s never before gotten a text that just says _I don’t want to die._

He’s on his phone the second he’s in the hallway, fumbling for his keys, pretending he can’t hear the commotion he left in his wake. Kurt picks up, or someone does, and he says “If you don’t want to, then, don’t. Where are you?”

There’s a shaky, watery inhale on the other end, and then another. Blaine waits. Kurt needs time, he knows. But he might not have...

“Kurt? Hey, shh, it’s gonna be okay, I’m on my way, just, tell me where you are? Are you ok? Shit, no, obviously not, that was stupid, did you...what’s going on, Kurt?”

“No. Not that. I. Karofsky.”

“Okay. Okay, okay, are you at school? Is he there?”

“I don’t want to die, Blaine.”

“I know. I know you don’t. I don’t want you to either. That’s not gonna happen, okay? Are you by yourself? _Where are you?_ ”

“I’m in. In my car.”

“Are you safe?” Blaine fumbles with his car door, gets it open, climbs in. Kurt doesn’t say anything.

“Kurt? That’s a hard question, sorry. Is anyone there with you?”

“No.”

“Okay. Okay. Can you drive home, do you think? Are you okay to drive? I’m heading out, I’m coming, I need to know where to go.”

“ _Don’t drive while you’re on the phone!_ ” Kurt is shrill and hysterical now, why did _that_...not the time. _So_ not the time.

“Okay, yes, you’re right. Are you going to be okay if I hang up?” He’s going to say _no_ , and Blaine will talk to him, gently, until he can drive himself home or until Blaine gets there, and he has no idea what’s going on but Kurt at least texted this time, that’s better than last time, and that means that they can make this better, too.

Kurt snaps, with more venom than Blaine has ever heard from anyone in his life, “Better than if you _die_ , bye,” and hangs up.

Blaine swears, drops his phone on the passenger seat, and pulls out onto the road.

But at least an angry Kurt can move, he thinks. That’s still better than last time.

*****

(The first time this happened, Blaine didn’t know about it for nine hours. Kurt had stopped answering his texts, and it was eight at night before Blaine decided _screw this_ and called him for the first time, just to be sure.

It maybe wasn’t the best first phone conversation in the history of the world.

Kurt had been so passive, so quiet it was hard to hear him, and it had practically been a game of twenty questions before Blaine had worked out what had _happened,_ and then he’d really just wished he hadn’t. And as _exciting_ as all that had been, it still really couldn’t compare to being slammed into a fence the next day, or Kurt’s voice _finally_ coming back, or the first thing he really managed to say being _until yesterday, I’d never been kissed. Not one that counted._

( _It doesn’t have to count_ , Blaine had remembered, rote, and maybe he should have said that but he was already planning on lying a lot more that day and he knew, it didn’t matter, it _counted_ , and he couldn’t.)

So Blaine took Kurt out to lunch and said _you deserve to feel safe in your school_ as many different ways as he could. But no matter how many variations he put on it, Kurt was still staring at the tabletop, and nothing was getting _through_ , and this was _important._

“Kurt. Hey. It’s okay, look at me.”

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut.

Blaine’s stomach dropped, and he pressed forward without thinking. “No, no, hey. I’m here. It’s okay.” He reached out and took Kurt’s hand, and Kurt inhaled sharply but his eyes opened and found Blaine’s. “We’re going to do this together. It’s not just Kurt-against-the-world any more. But you’ve got to let me help, okay?”

The “okay” was almost lost in an exhale, but it was definitely there, and when Kurt pulled back and poked at his salad again, Blaine relaxed back into his seat.

They would get there.)

*****

Since no one else will, Quinn takes Sam in.

It’s her job, she knows. Everyone else assumes that after last year she’s a natural caregiver, and she put the uniform back on to discourage exactly that kind of thinking, but Sam is a little lost and he’s kind to Kurt and she is not completely made of plastic.

She prays, every night, for kindness for Kurt.

Last year she could say it was just the unfortunate collision of hormones with a boy who really needed a mom, but she developed a habit of watching out for Kurt, and she can’t seem to shake it now. She calls it penance and doesn’t think about it, but if Kurt is safest sandwiched between her and Finn in the auditorium, then she can make sure that happens.

Sam is kind, and that is in short supply in Lima. He is going to stay in glee club, it’s as simple as that. And maybe it’s for Kurt, maybe it’s for her, no one’s going to ask her now that she has her ponytail back. She’s not going to ask herself, either. Some people don’t deserve kindness.

Kurt does, though.

Quinn’s never sure how much Kurt trusts her. He’ll talk to her about musicals, voice excited and bright, and smuggle her a copy of _Chicago_ to watch when her mom is at work, but then his eyes will fall to her cross necklace and he’ll go thin and removed. It’s not unexpected, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make her feel cold and lumbering for half a second before she cuts that nonsense out immediately.

It’s okay. Kurt doesn’t have to trust her. That’s the price she pays for not telling him what she prays for, and she is willing to pay it.

She sees Sam at Church, and then the next day she hears that Kurt went to him in the _showers_ , that boy needs _watching_ , but Sam sounds so sad, convinced _he_ misstepped somewhere, and Quinn knows he doesn’t even realize there’s a price.

So they sing together.

And when Sam comes back from football practice one afternoon with a bruised eye and a quiet lack of heroics, because it was just the right thing to do, Quinn breaks into his locker later that night and slips on his ring.

*****

Kurt does not _understand_ why Dad and Carole are getting married now, but he’s not objecting. This is his moment. This is what he was born to do.

He crawls under his bed and pulls out his wedding magazines and binders and gets to work. He’s outlined and scripted and diagrammed most of what needs doing countless times, so it’s just a question of selecting the right theme and tweaking the details. BreadstiX will do the catering of _course,_ and Quinn and Sam go with him to their church and the negotiations go surprisingly smoothly. ( _Maybe give up the doves,_ Quinn advises in the car. _Say Brittany will fall asleep for the prayer, and offer to skip the doves, but don’t stress: Pastor Dave does weddings for non-members so he’s more flexible. We’ll do the talking._ ) The music is taken care of, and if he spends his classes lost in binders and lists instead of taking notes, well, it’s McKinley. In fact, if his head is always in a binder, then that’s how big his world is, nothing left for him to notice.

The thing about Karofsky is that he doesn’t like being ignored.

*****

Not even weddings are safe any more.

Kurt falls further in, and waits.

*****

Dad says _there’s something else. Something you’re not telling me._

Kurt gives up.

*****

Kurt does not want to die.

Kurt does not want to die because of something he could not control.

The idea that he cannot control Karofsky is the most terrifying thing.

It seems paradoxical, that admitting this is what will keep him safe.

*****

There is still a wedding to put on.

*****

Kurt has a toast prepared. It goes like this:

_Weddings mean things._

_A wedding is the greatest gift a couple can give each other; their perfect plan._

_You say “I do,” and you are married, and this means that you love each other, that you are a family, and that what you share is real and can’t be undone._

_A wedding is when you define someone else--you are my husband, I am your wife--and when you let them define you. A wedding is a naming, and now you are named. A wedding is a claiming, and now you are claimed. You have, and you hold._

_And this means you love each other._

_A wedding is a plan that worked, a promise realized._

_A wedding means you are real._

He stitches together Carole’s bouquet, and fixes Dad’s tie, and knows they hear it.

*****

Finn sings that Kurt is _perfect, just the way you are._ They dance, and Kurt cries, and it’s more than he ever would have dreamed of.

Of course, since it’s not a dream, it turns out that no one else agrees.

And so, inevitably, Kurt surrenders control.

*****

He has to go.


	3. Kurt Hummel Is Not A Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If something sounds too good to be true, it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Posible triggers this part for situational depression and eating disorders.
> 
> A million thanks to narceus, who reminds me that I can post an installment before every word of the rest is written, and also that English verbs rely on tense not aspect and pronouns matter.

 

 

As she does every Monday morning, Sue Sylvester awakes at dawn. After her protein shake (she’ll tell Schuester later that it was brewed from his tears and left-over hair gel, for immunity purposes) and the completion of her morning routine (but that’s classified,) she enters her newest and favorite domain: the Principal's office at William McKinley High School. She salutes her Nixon portrait, changes the tapes of her concealed recordings, and opens her email.

Monday, November 29th, 2010 shall go down in infamy as the day Sue Sylvester was briefly rendered speechless with horror by the contents of her inbox.

It takes a full three minutes to properly read the email with her vision blacking out from rage midway through sentences. _David Karofsky....misunderstanding...overreach...apology was heartfelt and sufficient...returned to full standing 12 noon Tuesday, November 30, 2010..._

Sue stands, stiffly, and reaches for the phone. She makes three phone calls that morning. The second is to Burt Hummel, and the third is to the school board chair.

The first goes directly to the headmaster at Dalton Academy.

 

*****

Kurt is confused.

Blaine lied.

Blaine said, Blaine _said, you don’t have to die if you don’t want to, you deserve to feel safe in your school, they will_ understand _that, you just need to tell someone, you are_ right _about this and you have rights and if you tell an adult they can keep you safe, this is the rule, this is how it works, you are a kid in their care and they have to keep you **safe**_. Blaine said all of that, over and over again, and Kurt listened and practiced and never believed it but when things got too much he finally tried. And it worked, for a little.

But now Principal Sylvester is saying it didn’t.

Kurt closes his eyes and hears the voices swirling around him. Dad, bass and staccato and fast, unrelenting even when it’s long stopped mattering. Carole, new but firm, resonant, because this is _completely unacceptable_. Her voice is placed lower than Mom’s, he thinks, but she’s got the intensity right, and the rhythm is there, a driving counterpoint to Dad’s.

Mr. Schuester isn’t here. Principal Sue sounds like she’s in a different song entirely, quiet and dark and almost mournful, waiting for Dad and Carole to catch up. Kurt keeps his eyes shut and listens to their voices and not their words, because he’s miles ahead of them.

If something sounds too good to be true, it is.

 

*****

In the car on the way home, Dad says “you wanna call your friend Blaine, Kurt? Let him know he might run into us tomorrow?”

Kurt looks at his hands and sees his phone. He must have been holding it for a while, if Dad noticed. “No,” he says, and wishes he could lean his forehead against the window without messing up his hair or his skin.

“I think he might be a good person to talk to right now.”

“Maybe.”

“He could probably give you all kinds of insider-info.”

Kurt gives in and grinds his forehead against the window. It’s grounding.

“Thought you liked Blaine.”

“Did.”

“Did. Why not now?”

“He lied.”

There’s a beat.

“Okay, I’m a little confused, Kurt. This morning you were telling me how you were thinking about inviting him to watch Disney movies with you and Britt next weekend. What happened?”

It does not matter how hard he pushes against the window or how tightly he grips his phone; Dad does not want to drop it. Kurt falls back against his seat with a sigh. “He said that if I told, Karofsky would be expelled. But now I’m the one who has to go.”

For a moment, everyone’s breathing is very loud.

“That’s not his fault, Kurt.”

Kurt stares at his phone.

“It’s not yours, either. It’s the school board’s fault for not doing their job. You kids did everything right, and the people in charge decided they didn’t care. Your principal just resigned over it. She’s the one who told you Karofsky was expelled--she wasn’t lying then, either. The only people lying are the ones who swore to protect every kid at that school, and then didn’t mean it.”

Kurt is not going to cry.

That would be easier to do if he’d managed to _stop_ since he walked out of the choir room.

Dad’s hand reaches back and fishes for a second before it finds his knee and squeezes. Kurt breathes.

“I think,” Dad says, and his voice sounds wrong, “that Blaine would be a really good person to talk to today.”

*****

Kurt disappears into his basement as soon as they get home. _Home_ is going to be a very broad term for the next few weeks, Carole thinks. She and Burt had looked at a few houses before the wedding, and a few more that weekend, and they were hoping to take Kurt and Finn along next time to start narrowing things down. A new family should have a new house, they’d decided. A fresh start. But for now, she’s splitting nights between Burt and Finn, and everything is a little loose and messy.

When Kurt emerges from his basement with red eyes and a schedule for her to fill out indicating which nights she’ll spend where until they get the new house, she realizes she needs to re-evaluate which son this is going to be hardest on.

“I’m planning dinners,” he says, and his voice is a little hoarse but perfectly controlled again. “I need to know how many people I’ll be cooking for.”

Carole feels her heart _pinch_. She pushes aside her turkey sandwich and pulls out the chair next to her, gesturing for him to sit down. “Kurt, sweetie, you don’t have to--”

“I was thinking chicken roulade for tonight,” he interrupts, ignoring the chair and talking to the tabletop, “but I need to know how many potatoes to mash. You’re not allergic to mushrooms, right?” He rushes ahead before she can answer, breathless. “Because if you are then I have to make a red sauce, which means I have to do pasta, unless you’re eating with Finn. Or if Finn’s coming here, then I have to probably make pasta anyway because a mushroom sauce is just a tad much for him, don’t you think, especially if I sneak the asparagus in with the roulade. _Don’t_ tell Dad I do that.”

He inhales, and Carole touches his arm and interrupts. “I think I’m going to spend tonight with Finn,” she says, firmly. “We need to catch up. You and your Dad can eat tonight, and I’ll bring the schedule back with me tomorrow, okay? I think I’ll be here tomorrow night. Does that sound good?”

Kurt stares at her hand on his arm. “Can you fill it out now?” he asks.

Carole imagines pulling Kurt into a hug and stroking his hair while one or both of them cries. She bites her lip--he might need it, but she can’t imagine Kurt permitting that right now. Thankfully, she has other tricks in her bag. “I’ll do it while you eat lunch,” she says, squeezing his arm before letting go to stand up. “Let me make you some soup.”

“Thank you Carole, but I don’t feel very hungry right now,” he says stiffly. She grins.

“Then a little soup should be light enough to be just fine. Chicken noodle or vegetable?”

Kurt stares out the kitchen window. She waits, patient, and wonders if threatening him with Campbell’s tomato will make him stop stalling or just explode, and if he might need a good yell.

A minute goes by. Then another. Of course she’s gained the only son in Ohio who can out-stubborn Finn--except Kurt doesn’t look like he’s still with her. _Hmm._ She reaches out and brushes his arm, and he startles. “Kurt. Chicken noodle or vegetable?”

He blinks rapidly, as though bringing the world back into focus. “I have some butternut squash bisque frozen from last week. One cup left.”

She smiles. “Perfect.”

 _“Perfect,”_ Kurt whispers, and finally takes his seat.

 

*****

To: Kurt  
 _Hey, you’ve been quiet. Busy day?_

To: Kurt  
 _Kurt?_

To: Kurt  
 _Did Finn like the casserole we made him?_

To: Blaine  
 _Yes._

To: Kurt  
 _Aha! You ARE alive!_

To: Blaine  
 _Yes._

To: Kurt  
 _Soooooooooo how was your day?_

To: Blaine  
 _Where do you get your uniforms?_

To: Kurt  
 _...I’m sorry, I’m still learning this game, I’m not seeing the connection here._

To: Kurt  
 _Still there?_

To: Kurt  
 _Can I call you?_

To: Blaine  
 _Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I forgive you._

To: Kurt  
 _Ok, calling you NOW you better not be in rehearsal._

 

*****

Dad doesn’t say, at dinner, _did you call Blaine yet?_ Dad trusts Kurt to know what he wants to do. He does send Kurt to bed when Kurt, exhausted, drops a handful of cutlery on its way to the drawer, and even though it’s barely 7PM Kurt is just so _tired_ that he almost messes up his moisturizing regimen.

He feels a little better after, his cheeks smooth and smelling faintly of lavender, and he hesitates by his vanity, looking at his pile of lists from that afternoon. He’s got meal schedules for the rest of the year, a calendar for which house Carole is at when for the next month, and five different versions of his to-do list, all color-coded to different schemes to highlight different focuses. His trashcan is overflowing with discarded drafts, incomplete lists, schedules he couldn’t get the shading quite right for. He should empty it. His hand cramps--maybe tomorrow.

He puts on his softest pajamas, presses his cheek against the pillow, and drifts, looking at his phone as his conversation with Blane echoes in his head.

_I’m so sorry._

_You don’t need to be._

_It’s not right though._

_No. Where do you get your uniforms?_

_I don’t know, I’m sorry, I bet they’ll tell you tomorrow. Some store in Cincinnati._

_Some store in Cincinnati._

_Yeah._

_Cincinnati._

_Cincinnati._

_It was supposed to get better._

_I know. I know. I’m sorry._

_Hey, don’t cry, shhhh. Okay. It’s okay._

_No._

_No, it’s not. I know._

There’s a text he missed at dinner, after they’d said goodbye and hung up. Blaine’s offering to show them to the headmaster’s tomorrow. He sends back _see you then_ and _it’s been a long day, goodnight,_ and is almost asleep when his phone buzzes.

_I wish it wasn’t happening this way? But I think you’re really going to like Dalton._

He’s too tired to get his hopes up. He shuts his eyes, and sleeps.

*****

It will be months before Kurt wakes up again.

*****

Tuesday, they drive to Dalton and Blaine greets them with enough coffee that Kurt mostly remembers to look at the headmaster when he’s talking, even when none of the words make sense. Maybe they don’t speak English at Dalton. He doesn’t know the rules for prep schools. Anything could happen.

The thought is terrifying. He gives his measurements for his uniform instead, enunciating carefully, pretends to know what block scheduling is, and covertly texts Blaine that he’ll be back Thursday afternoon for placement exams. He survived the New Directions; he can survive Dalton. He has to.

The headmaster wants him to explain what happened. Kurt opens his mouth, closes his eyes and turns off his ears, and recites.

 

*****

Tuesday morning, Blaine greets the Hummel-Hudson clan with coffee and his most professional smile. Finn’s at school of course, so he only brought three medium coffees (Kurt says Finn is “kind of a giant” but “crossed with a puppy” and “it’s not his fault his xbox can’t teach him algebra.” Blaine thinks he sounds _hilarious_ and can’t wait to meet him.) He shakes Burt and Carole’s hands, introduces himself as “Blaine Anderson, Kurt’s friend, student here at Dalton” and hands over their coffees and the creamers and packets of sugar he’d smuggled in his pockets.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you both,” he says, “the creamer is nonfat dairy, I didn’t want Kurt to kill me.” That gets a chuckle out of Burt and an eyebrow twitch out of Kurt, who looks...not dead, but definitely not awake. Blaine hopes the mocha helps. He makes sure Burt and Carole are comfortable in their chairs in the reception area, and then sits down next to Kurt, cradling his own coffee. “How are you doing?” he asks.

“Tired,” Kurt mumbles. Blaine can see feel as much as see Burt watching them out of the corner of his eye.

“Then drink your mocha, dummy, it’ll help,” he says, voice low, bumping his shoulder against Kurt’s. “Don’t make me drink alone.”

Kurt is evidently still alive enough to use his bitchface. Blaine decides that this is encouraging. He remembers his transfer. He usually tries not to, outside of fight club.

This is neither the time nor the place.

“Tell you what,” he starts, bumping Kurt again and grinning when Kurt narrows his eyes at him.

“How am I supposed to drink when you keep hitting me, it’ll spill all over my Docs and I will _hurt you_ Blaine Anderson.”

Blaine beams. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Kurt Hummel, glad to have you with us again. Listen, I’ve got a deal. For every sip you take, I’ll tell you one totally interesting fact about Dalton, _and_ I’ll stop bro-shouldering you.”

“That is not a real thing,” Kurt insists.

“Think about it. Not too long though, this is a limited-time offer.” Blaine waggles his eyebrows, and Kurt rolls his eyes and takes an exaggerated sip. “Awesome. Fact number one: you remember the hallway with the epic mural? It’s also the best place on the entire campus for sock-skating. The Warblers have a monthly contest. Jeff won last month...”

 

*****

Blaine is shorter than Burt thought he’d be. He doesn’t move or sound like Kurt, which is probably more surprising than it should be. Burt knows that Kurt is unique, even among gay boys in Ohio. Maybe especially then, actually. Kurt won’t talk to him about it, but Burt’s pretty sure it must be lonely.

But it’s one thing knowing there is no one in the world quite your like son, and another thing to see it.

Not the time. Blaine’s nice, and he’s got Kurt...not smiling, but drinking his mocha, at least. Good. Carole told him about the soup, and Kurt kept saying he was too tired to eat last night. He’s going to be hell to feed for at least a week. If Blaine can get him to eat, Burt will have him over for dinner every night.

(If the way Kurt has been talking about this kid is anything to go by, he’ll be showing up sometime soon anyway. Might as well get it over with.)

Now that he thinks about it, Burt doesn’t ever remember meeting any Andersons the few times he sat in on one of the PFLAG meetings in the basement of the Lima Community Center. He’d gone a couple of times last year around this time, and then he and Carole had tried it again over the summer, with the same results. The pamphlets were nice, but it was still false advertising, still a place where they had to _explain_ Kurt, who was apparently unlike every other kid in Lima, gay or straight. Tell him something he didn’t know.

But there hadn’t been any Andersons there. Huh. Something to think about.

Blaine seems like a good kid though. He’s got hair that looks like it takes even more work than Kurt’s, and he’s gotten Kurt to drink....all of his mocha. Wow. And now he’s taking a muffin out of his bag. The kid is _good_. Kurt doesn’t look impressed, but Blaine isn’t ruffled by whatever scathing thing he’s hissing, and even Finn still gets scared when Kurt is in a mood. If anything, Blaine looks _proud_. He should be--Kurt looks almost himself again. Almost okay.

Burt watches Kurt take a tiny, grudging piece of muffin, and feels his chest go a little less tight. He _likes_ this kid.

“Mr. Hummel?” the secretary says. “He’s ready for you. If you all will follow me--not you, Mr. Anderson. Morning Meeting’s in five minutes. You have places to be.” Blaine makes a face at Kurt, who rolls his eyes, and shoves the rest of the muffin at him. Kurt shoves it back.

“Text me when you’re done?” Blaine says. “I’m totally a tour guide here, I can show you around!”

“Only upperclassmen give tours, Mr. Anderson,” the secretary corrects, but Kurt hums something that makes Blaine laugh.

“Yeah, shining shimmering splendid and all that. No magic carpet though, sorry, we’ll have to walk.”

“Walk to class, Mr. Anderson,” says the secretary, steering him towards the door. “I’ll tell the headmaster you offered your services. If you folks would come with me?”

 _Text me_ , Blaine mouths, sticking his head back around the door before he disappears. Kurt grins. Burt’s almost sad Blaine missed it. Sure, Kurt wilts again as soon as they’re in the office, but Burt has seen enough. They’re making the right choice.

One hour later, Kurt’s a Dalton boy.

 

*****

Kurt drifts through the rest of the week. The world has gone all wrong since Monday; things slip and slide, and Kurt falls with them and tries not to think about it. He’d prefer not to think about anything, but that feels dark and dangerous. So he makes lists of things he needs to think about, instead. He needs to get and alter his uniform. He needs to be assigned classes and memorize his textbooks so he’s ahead instead of behind. He needs to practice his scales so he can audition for the Warblers. He needs to help Dad and Carole pick a new house.

He needs to cry, but he can’t seem to do that anymore.

Wednesday is marked by an absence of certainty about absolutely everything. Kurt fills the void with Lists For Dalton--multi-layered, bulletpointed, color-coded lists of potential class schedules (there are 73 possible options,) things he needs to remember to put in his locker, rules from the handbook, rules about how to sit in classes he’s missed half a semester of filled with strangers who are already friends with each other and already know how everything works without making a provincial fool out of himself...

Carole hands him a new pencil and picks up the pieces of the snapped one, silently. Kurt hadn’t realized she was there. She doesn’t bother him, except to ask what he wants for lunch. He’s not hungry. She makes herself a sandwich and doesn’t push it, but the way she’s just _looking_ at Kurt when he comes back with his stationary case and colored pencils to start re-copying his lists and experimenting with shading makes him feel itchy and inside-out.

“I’m going to need multiple copies of every one,” he explains. “One for the inside of my locker, the desk at home, my planner, emergency back-ups...these are just the rough drafts.”

Carole doesn’t say anything. Kurt feels too big and too small all at once.

“You can’t rush perfection. It took me awhile to break Dad of that awful habit he had of just scribbling things out and starting over, but thankfully, sanity triumphed. It takes a few drafts to get the list comprehensive and elegant and in the right order. And then there’s the question of color scheme. Blaine sent me a picture of the lockers, so I’m thinking I’ll do the copy for Dalton in a raspberry and indigo theme, but some of these lists have a tri-level system of color coding, and there are only so many complementary colors. And then lettering...”

Carole gets up and rinses her plate off, unreadable. Kurt swallows. “So. It’s a process.”

Carole turns around, leaving her plate on the counter. “Dishes go in the dishwasher,” Kurt says, and she sighs.

“Sweetie, have a sandwich or something first,” she says.

He finishes his lists in his basement. He’d needed to start experimenting with different kinds of paper, anyway.

Thursday he takes his placement exams at Dalton. He’d expected junior humanities core, but now he knows that he has the third-period class, which narrows things down. He’s also assigned biology with the sophomores, since he took chemistry last year already, and they stick him in Pottery 1 for an elective. Mme. Mottron has him talk for ten minutes and then declares that he’s welcome to finish out AP French with her that semester, but he’s not to embarrass the seniors and, come January, he’s going to need to take a new language. Dalton is all about supporting its students in challenging themselves, or something else equally bizarre. Kurt isn’t sure what he thinks about that, but he collects his textbooks and holds them in his arms until he can feel most of his body again, and that’s nice. He has his books; he has a schedule; and he has Blaine offering him a slice of cheesecake.

It’s too soon to say for sure, but it is possible that he might be alright again, some day.

 

*****

Kurt doesn’t start at Dalton until the following Monday. This gives him time to take placement exams and hem his uniform slacks and write out his schedule, and it gives Blaine time to prepare.

Tuesday afternoon, Blaine opens rehearsal by announcing that the Warblers are gaining a countertenor in a week.

Wednesday morning, Blaine brings both secretaries lattes and Headmaster Biklen his peppermint mocha. He jokes with Mrs. Jorgeson about the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and argues with Ms. Leary about whose team did better Thursday (verdict: Ohio State. Ms. Leary disagrees, but Blaine is pretty sure he’s right.) By the time he leaves the office, he has five texts from Kurt asking what color the inside _and_ outside of the lockers are. He texts back _Um, kinda beige?_ and, in a moment of genius, sends a picture.

Thursday morning, Blaine remembers that Cheryl likes two creams, no sugar, and Martha likes three Splendas. Headmaster Biklen accepts his peppermint hot chocolate (extra whip) gravely. “You will tell no one about this,” he whispers. Blaine swears the secret is safe with him.

(Thursday evening, he has dinner in Westerville with Kurt and his Dad. According to his textbooks, Kurt has AP French, biology with Blaine, junior humanities core, and pottery. Blaine tries to explain how the humanities core works, Kurt eats most of a salad and all of the piece of cheesecake Blaine ordered to _share_ , and Burt watches Blaine some more and insists on paying for his meal.)

Friday morning, Martha catches him coming out of the headmaster’s office and asks if he wouldn’t mind showing the new student around come Monday. Blaine assures her it would be his pleasure, does a tiny victory dance in the hallway, and two hours later remembers to warn Kyle that he’s going to need to work in a threesome with Mark and Ben starting Monday, because the new kid will need a lab partner.

Saturday, Blaine gets 113 texts from Kurt scrupulously detailing every fatal design flaw in each house Carole and his dad are taking him and Finn to look at. Somewhere around the 19th, Blaine starts replying to every _why would you make a staircase with 13 steps_ with a new fun fact about Dalton. Kurt doesn’t acknowledge them, but he also doesn’t stop texting Blaine. Blaine doesn’t know how helpful he’s being, but he’s pretty sure Kurt doesn’t know what _help_ would even look like, let alone that such a concept might ever be applied to one Kurt Hummel. He kind of thinks that means he should keep trying.

*****

Friday, Kurt’s uniform arrives, so he can hem his trousers and alter the seams on the blazer until it sits right. That takes less than an hour, and itemizing all his pins and brooches only takes another, so he goes back to reading his textbooks. French is comforting. He runs through his favorite conjugations until it’s time to make the coq au vin for dinner. Finn is afraid of it at first, but winds up eating most of Kurt’s portion. Kurt wonders how he’ll feel about bouillabaisse next week.

Saturday, Dad and Carole take him and Finn house-hunting. Tragically, all nine houses are critically flawed. Completely unsuitable for occupation.

“We’re going to have to move eventually, Kurt,” Dad says after Kurt makes the realtor bite her lip and duck out to the porch for a suspiciously long phone call. Kurt knows, he does. It’s not his fault that the wood paneling in the den makes it look like a coffin.

Sunday, Blaine comes over and tries to convince Kurt that he only really needs to know the chapter on cell structure for biology right now. He disagrees that Kurt should memorize the chapter. “Look, we don’t have a test for another couple weeks, and I’m your lab partner. You’re gonna be fine. We get to play with microscopes on Tuesday, you’ll love it. Relax. Biology is the study of life. You’re alive, right?”

As a general policy, Kurt refuses to dignify such inane questions with any form of response. It only encourages more.

“See, you couldn’t frost me out like that if you were dead. So. You’re alive; that means you’re already looking at at _least_ a passing grade in the science of life. Breathe. It might even raise your grade.”

Kurt throws a pillow at his head. It helps.

When he’s not being an _idiot_ , Blaine helps, too.

*****

Getting dressed only takes three minutes Monday morning. Dad finds him frozen in front of his closet twenty minutes later, turning his brooch over and over in his hand, the pin barely scratching at his palm.

“Hey kiddo,” Dad says, “I thought it was too quiet. What are you stuck on?”

“I’m not,” Kurt argues automatically. “I’m fine, Dad.”

Dad doesn’t argue, just comes up to stand by his shoulder. “What kind of pin is that?” he asks. “Is it regulation?”

“There aren’t any rules about brooches. I checked. And it’s a zebra.”

“Yeah, I can see that. It’s on a shield. I thought the point of Dalton was that you wouldn’t need a shield, kiddo.” His voice sounds wrong again. It’s been a week since Dad sounded like Dad, and it makes Kurt’s throat close up.

He clears his throat. “I don’t need the shield. The zebra does. It’s too late to change it now, I’m already off schedule.” He pins it on, carefully, and turns to look at Dad. “What did you want for breakfast?”

He can’t explain about stripes today, but he can make Dad a Denver omelette with egg whites and meat substitute, and tonight he’ll find out if he gets to keep them.


End file.
